‘To experience the wonder of the archipelago in the remote islands was always a dream of mine. To see Darwin lost so dramatically, exceeded my wildest expectations.’
Hyde gave a single choking cough, no one sure if it was the food or in response to Zachary’s saccharine answer.
‘Tell us how you escaped, Zachary,’ Captain Coburg said.
Zachary thought furiously.
‘When you were not at the ladder I dived into the water and started swimming.’
Hyde’s interest was acute, unaware Zachary had returned to the island.
‘And the drum?’ Captain Coburg said.
‘It kept me afloat.’
‘You and the Professor are fortunate men.’
Hyde knew any drum came from inside his cavern and Zachary either carried it out via the shack or had somehow survived a trip down the sinkhole.
‘And the table came from the shack, Professor?’
Hyde nodded, staring into his plate of salad without elaborating. Unexpectedly, he questioned Zachary.
‘Where is the drum?’
‘Floating toward Ecuador on the current, I’d expect.’
Captain Coburg knew the drum was in Zachary’s quarters below deck and there must be good reason for him not disclosing the fact.
Hyde felt the deception, rubbing a hand over the bandage covering the lava burns on his thigh.
While they were all eating, a crewman placed a laptop computer on the table. He played a film of the eruption, taken from the launch’s fly bridge. The island, hidden by smoke, shot fountains of red lava into the sky. They were transfixed until the film stopped abruptly, prompting an enthusiastic discussion about tsunamis, earthquakes and the destruction of Pompeii. Even Professor Hyde passed an occasional comment.
Captain Coburg needled Hyde. ‘Where will you go, Professor, now that Darwin is gone?’
Hyde stood, wiped his hairy mouth with his sleeve and marched off.
‘I guess that means goodnight,’ Captain Coburg said.
‘A little insensitive,’ Paris said.
‘Zachary, why so secretive about the black drum?’
‘Hyde has no use for it, Captain.’
‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’ Captain Coburg excused himself to the bridge.
‘Hyde makes me uneasy,’ Rachel said.
‘He didn’t believe a word about you escaping the island, Zach,’ Father Stephen said.
‘We’d all like to know how you did it,’ Paris said.
‘And how you found the spider,’ Rachel said.
‘What spider?’ Paris said.
Zachary smiled at the heiress, and Rachel hated every long second of it.
‘A Domino Cardinal Tarantula as big as a dinner plate,’ he said.
Paris gave a dramatic shudder. ‘Where is it?’
‘Inside the drum from the island. I discovered a huge cavern under Hyde’s shack filled with research papers and terrariums, one of which held the spider. When the passage to the shack was cut off during the eruption, I escaped through a strange aquatic tunnel that flushed me out under the island to where Rachel and Steve spotted me paddling away.’
‘What are you going to do with it?’ Paris said.
‘Collect a sample of its venom.’
‘And how will you smuggle it out of Ecuador?’ Paris said.
Rachel detested her succinctness.
‘The spider won’t leave Ecuador but the venom will, inside Steve’s little bottle of altar wine,’ Zachary said, standing gingerly, advising he was going to bed.
The newly forming scabs on his battered body stretched and burned at the slightest movement. He hobbled to his cabin, slumped on the bunk and promptly fell asleep. On the floor, next to him, was the black drum. Earlier, Zachary punched a dozen holes in its sides with a screwdriver, for ventilation.
Professor Hyde appeared on the bridge and Captain Coburg invited him in.
‘Can I use a phone?’
‘Who are you going to ring at this late hour, Professor?’
‘I need two minutes.’
Captain Coburg was slow to decide. Hyde made to leave.
‘Hold on, Professor.’
Captain Coburg unhooked a satellite phone off the instrument panel and passed it to him. Hyde took it without a thank you and stepped outside under the soft lights of the wheelhouse. Captain Coburg watched him in earnest conversation, gesticulating to make a point and true to his word the call was brief. Hyde handed the phone back with a forced thank you and returned to his cabin.
At 3 a.m., Captain Coburg saw lights on the horizon. They shone from a large ship, possibly a freighter and it was on a collision course with the Coldfire Queen. He tried raising the vessel by radio without reply, slowing the diesel engines to allow it to pass well ahead. The ship changed course, intent on intercepting the launch. He tried radioing again.
Zachary woke with the changing pitch of the engines. He checked the time, realised Isabela was still four hours away, rolled in his bunk and went back to sleep.
The ship was no freighter. It crossed astern of the Coldfire Queen and took a wide arc, cruising up from behind, pulling along the starboard side, keeping pace. Captain Coburg stared in awe at the grey wall towering above him. The flagship of the Ecuadorian Navy, Gearing-class destroyer Presidente Eloy Alfaro, dwarfed his launch. The radio came to life.
‘Coldfire Queen, please disengage your engines and remain steady in the water. We will send a vessel to rendezvous.’
Captain Coburg complied, unable to outrun a destroyer or its bullets.
The Coldfire Queen slowed to a stop, rolling gently in the swell. The destroyer veered away but maintained its speed, embarking on a giant circle. An unlit rubber Zodiac sped toward the launch, rushing to a stop at the stern. Captain Coburg was watching so intently he almost missed the wiry figure of Professor Hyde running across the rear deck of the launch, a small box tucked under one arm. He climbed down to the transom where two pairs of hands helped him into the Zodiac. Its engines growled as it spun a doughnut and shot off into the night.
The destroyer completed its circle. When it came past the launch at full speed, a voice came through Captain Coburg’s radio.
‘Thank you for your assistance, Captain Coburg, you are free to resume your journey.’
The wash from the destroyer ran under the launch as it peeled away and headed east toward the Ecuadorian coast, the quartet oblivious to it all.
The Coldfire Queen came back to speed as dawn filtered over the smoky horizon.
Zachary woke from a dream in which he’d been appointed to Newton’s chair at Cambridge University. Someone was knocking at his office door. A beautiful woman entered the room, introducing herself, with no regard for his elevated title.
‘Time to get up, Zachary.’
His mouth was dry, and the pain of the previous day returned.
‘Are you okay, Zachary Smith?’ Rachel’s voice lulled him to his senses.
‘I’ll survive.’
‘We’re pulling into the harbour. Captain Coburg has arranged a helicopter to San Cristobal, leaving in an hour.’
‘Give me a few minutes to get my head together. I’ll meet you on deck.’
The quartet assembled topside as the launch berthed in the hazy marina and a gangway was run out onto the jetty. They thanked the crew and Captain Coburg.
‘Father Stephen, the white smoke has arisen out of Rome. There is a new Pope,’ Captain Coburg said
‘Who is the Cardinal elect, Captain?’ Father Stephen said.
‘There’s been no announcement.’
‘Where’s Professor Hyde?’ Paris said.
‘He’s gone,’ Captain Coburg said.
‘We’ve only just docked,’ Rachel said.
‘He left early this morning while you were all asleep, courtesy of an Ecuadorian destroyer.’
‘Hell of a focus of resources for one man,’ Zachary said.
‘I wonder if we’ll hear of him again,’ Paris sai
d.
The quartet walked onto the jetty as Captain Coburg went below deck. Zachary carried the black drum, unaware it was now 126 grams heavier than before. He heard Jimmy scratching inside.
83
The newly elected Pope walked alone into the Room of Tears - a small red room off the Sistine Chapel. He chose a set of white pontifical choir robes in which to dress, hung a large gold pectoral cross around his neck and wrapped his waist in a red sash. After placing the zucchetto on his head, he re-emerged into the Sistine Chapel to rapturous applause. From the gilded throne of Saint Peter, he presided over his flock in silent prayer. Then he stood and blessed the conclave of cardinals, speaking briefly of the humble service to which he had been unexpectedly admitted.
The Cardinal Deacon preceded the Pope onto the balcony of the Chapel.
The quartet watched the telecast with great anticipation.
‘I announce to you a great joy. We have a new Pope! The Most Eminent and Most Reverend Lord, Lord Michael, Cardinal of the Holy Roman Church Venti, who takes himself the name Luke.’
At the appearance of the Pope from behind a curtain, Father Stephen sunk to the floor. Zachary ran down the hotel stairs out onto the road, trying to flee the dread invading his soul. He fell to his knees on the hot asphalt as a car skidded to a stop behind him. He vomited violently, rolling on his side into the mess, caring for nothing. Sobbing, he curled into a foetal position and swayed like a rocking horse fallen on its wooden flank. Rachel ran to him, touching his arm as a crowd encroached and the world revolved in slow motion.
Zachary remained in his hotel room with Father Stephen into the next day. While Father Stephen drew on the tenants of his faith, Zachary was distant and aloof. Rachel and Paris found it impossible to enjoy the exotic sights of San Cristobal.
Around midday, Zachary left the hotel room with the black drum and met Angelina at reception.
‘I’m glad you’re safe, Mr Smith.’
‘I have something to show you, Angelina. Do you have a torch?’
Angelina produced a pen light from her desk drawer, signalling Zachary to follow her. She left the counter unattended, taking him into an office behind the reception area.
Zachary unscrewed the lid on the drum as Angelina locked the door.
‘Look inside.’
Angelina shone the pen light through the hole, exploring the drum.
‘Hermit crabs, Mr Smith.’
Zachary took the torch from her and looked for himself.
‘Not what you expected?’ Angelina said.
‘When I left Darwin Island there was a Domino Cardinal Tarantula in that drum.’
‘You could have donated it to the research centre and claimed the reward on offer, Mr Smith.’
‘Rather, I hoped to entrust it to your safekeeping.’
Rachel paced the foyer in front of reception. When Zachary and Angelina emerged from the office she could barely suppress her angst.
Zachary continued to give his complete attention to Angelina. He pulled a blank cheque from his wallet, wrote it out to the sum of ten thousand dollars, folded it into her palm and kissed her on both cheeks.
‘Thank you for everything, Angelina. We are leaving this afternoon.’
Rachel was desperate to know the depth of their familiarity.
‘You are most welcome, Mr Smith. Please visit San Cristobal again.’
Rachel was incensed. ‘Hi, Zachary,’ she said seductively, to woo his attention, convinced the dark beauty had cast him in her spell.
‘Goodbye, Angelina,’ he said, and finally, Rachel had him to herself.
She tucked her arm in his and walked him up to his room where he sagged into a chair, head in hands.
‘Can I help, Zachary?’
‘I suspect Hyde has the tarantula.’
‘And the world seems no worse off,’ Rachel said.
‘Unless you fail to consider we are on the brink of a global conflict.’
‘It may never eventuate, Zachary. Let God take care of things.’
‘Putting Venti on the Papal throne is a strange way for God to intervene. I’m leaving for the airport.’
‘You promised to take me to Vegas.’ Rachel would have forgiven him for refusing.
He’d forgotten his pledge, not expecting Rachel to take advantage of it in the current circumstances. But he resigned himself to the trip with a tired nod.
Rachel skipped out the door and left Zachary wondering at her excitement after all that had happened. Then it dawned on him. He was the only one carrying the unspeakable burden; the bastard son whose father was Pope.
He put the black drum on the end of the bed and left the room.
84
Professor Hyde sat on the deck of an old weatherboard house in the midst of a tobacco plantation. The constant chirp of crickets was strange comfort to him after the noisy birds and pounding surf of Darwin Island. He leant back in a chair, inhaling the sweet aromas wafting off the valley.
The photograph of Pope Luke on page three of the El Mecurio was somehow familiar to him and then he remembered. He had ordered the man, along with a woman, off Darwin Island after they shot at the birds.
Hyde recalled the man’s words as he climbed down the ladder to the waiting dinghy. ‘Professor Hyde, I am aware of your exclusive domain here. If you need something, anything at all, I am a man of influence. I wish only to see a Domino Cardinal. Our apologies for any disruption we caused.’
Venti handed Hyde a business card but he discarded it off the cliff into the sea.
Now Hyde wondered if the Pope still had an interest in the tarantula.
He entered the bungalow to retrieve a notepad and a pen. Jimmy scratched at the walls of his cardboard box as the rising moon cast its silver glow across the fields. Hyde’s mind wandered to another place, hoping God’s right hand man could get him there.
85
Bianca ate breakfast with her brother. The Pope’s desk phone rang and he answered it, scribbling down a set of numbers on a scrap of paper.
‘Are you ready, Bianca?’
‘Yes, Michael.’
They descended to the vault deep below the Vatican. He punched the fourteen-digit code into the touch pad, opened the door and turned on the light. Bianca followed, closing the door behind them.
The Sword of Golgotha lay naked on the altar.
‘For all these years, Bianca, we were blind to our sword’s great secret. Now the most sacrosanct of weapons will return to our estate, and half a billion Euros will do wonders for the family coffers.’
Bianca swung an empty viola case onto the altar and popped the latches. She removed a plain white sheet in which she wrapped the sword. Without venerating the relic, she locked it in the case.
Pope Luke ushered Bianca out of the room. He killed the light and shut the door which locked automatically. They climbed back to the corridors at ground level, both breathing heavily by the time they reached a hidden door into the Sistine Chapel.
Bianca was in awe of the architectural secrets Pope Luke showed her, revelations beyond money, thrilling her no end.
He kissed her goodbye and waited at his chamber window for her to appear below. She carried the viola case across the square to her car and drove out of the Holy City.
Pope Luke knelt in silent prayer, his solemn and devout facade perfectly set.
86
Soon after Monique Zambeel smashed the tabernacle, no more human life was conceived on Earth. The contagious threat once trapped within the ornament was now free to do its heinous work.
Ascending the Papal throne did not subdue the anguish Venti felt at losing control of mans’ destiny. He longed to be the saviour of the world, worshipped for restoring the hope of mankind after holding it to ransom. He wanted to submerge the world in war and then lift it free to the plaudits of great men. Pope Luke craved so much. He believed in pills and prayer, but lacked the single ingredient that left him powerless.
His attempts to contact Monique Zambeel were
ignored and he was unable to expose her for fear of showing his own wicked hand in the evil unfolding on his account.
As head of the Catholic Church, Pope Luke urged prayer and restraint, imploring the world to turn from the dual millstones of hate and violence, and seek the light of Christ and his message of forgiveness and understanding.
The more Pope Luke preached his humble message of contrition, the further he raised the ire of Muslim radicals. It was a beautifully disguised synergy, a symbiotic poisoned banquet of opposing viewpoints. Maybe he was the Saviour returned and God had not yet enlightened him to this end. Drugs led him into the dark recesses of his own mind where he sought even greater illumination.
Chinese forces unloaded into Afghanistan, pressuring America to leave. The U.S. President thought deeply about the developments threatening his country. Retaliation was pointless if it meant millions of innocent people might die. With infertility evident across the planet, war and disease would only speed the race to extinction. Now the preservation of life took on a sacred urgency. His pro-life view on abortion may well be heeded in the face of the misery cutting a swathe through man’s existence.
A global scientific committee formed to coordinate research into the destructive syndrome. The fault was in genes located on both the male and female sex chromosomes. The segments where these genes lay were corroded to a dysfunctional level, making their recombination impossible for viable reproduction, with no discernible cause or cure.
America’s offer to front the research effort led some to suggest it was trying to buy time. However, America’s superior technology gave it the best chance of any country in the world to find a remedy. Therefore, to obliterate the United States would be counterproductive.
The FBI was no closer to finding the author of the Jupiter letters. No one had been snared in the net of association, except Toby Bell, who’d vanished without a trace.
The Jupiters were wrapped in tentacles of guilt. Where once they sought a righteous quest to benefit all of mankind, they now indulged in hedonistic pursuits to kill thoughts of the atrocities for which they were responsible.
The Jesus Germ Page 37